As I kid, I used to clip out the travel advertisements from the back of Smithsonian Magazine. One stifling still summer day in my hometown of South Bend, Indiana, I pasted them all to pieces of computer paper.
To make it official, I bound the paper into a book, using the always-popular plastic science report cover. Those plastic sleeves held my dreams of being grown-up and free. I scorned contemporaries who believed that Chicago was the most exotic city in the world, that Lake Michigan was as good as an ocean.